The Atlas Imitation
by Seph's Madisen Moss
Summary: Worst of all are his eyes, angled down, but still filled with a bitter, helpless exhaustion. His posture is subdued, alarmingly still, and he's alone in the hallway, despite the pack all being there. It fills her with this burning rage on his behalf, because honestly? He looks too tired to even carry on, let alone care how easily he is dismissed. Lydia Martin has had enough.


**So, I have no idea where this plays into existence in canon. Originally, I imagined post-3B, but then Allison, Erica, and Boyd were dead and Isaac was gone, so I tried imagining prior, but it didn't work. So, we have ourselves and AU people. Not too extreme, just post 3A at the minimum, with everyone alive and Malia and Kira not existing on screen yet. Read on and tell me what you think.**

Lydia had never been dependent on anyone. To be certain that doesn't mean that she never needs someone, because she does, from time to time, but never as a constant clamoring thing that doesn't go away. She's actually used to being needed, though never really urgently. But still, she is familiar enough with it to know the weight of someone's dependency, to understand how it can drag you down, especially if your help is not recognized. If someone just assumes that you'll be there and you force yourself to be, even if you can feel exhaustion creeping up. Jackson taught her that lesson.

That's why her temper flares when she sees Stiles the first day back after Christmas break, when she knows that there was supernatural forces afoot, though she wasn't involved in it, her mother having trapped her in the house for a majority of it. His face is bruised and he walks with a pained limp, bags under his eyes the size of her favorite purple pillows. Worst of all are his eyes, flickering around like they were trying to keep pace with his thoughts and angled down, but still filled with a bitter, helpless exhaustion. His posture is subdued, alarmingly still, and he's alone in the hallway, despite the pack all being there.

Isaac is laughing with Erica as Boyd quietly grins, Scott and Allison are being their usual disgustingly cute selves and no one seems to even notice Stiles.

It fills her with this burning rage on his behalf, because honestly? He looks too tired to even carry on, let alone find even a vague sense of annoyance over how easily he is dismissed.

She knows full well that Scott goes to him for everything, then rides off into some bloody sunset with Allison, leaving him in the dust every time. Derek is forever having Stiles search for some obscure piece of information that leads to a riddle that leads to a puzzle that leads to a mystery, which leads to the next misadventure that will all be solved by Stiles. They all expect him to have the answer, to be there, no matter what unholy hour it was or how dangerous it could be, how hurt he would become, because they forget, she thinks, that Stiles is human. He may be the poster child of Energizer, but he's not like them. It's actually a mark against them, because Stiles' humanity and weakness makes him stronger than them because of how much he is willing to take, but the fact that they continually abuse his willingness to hurt himself for them says nothing good on their behalf.

And Lydia had had enough.

Very deliberately, she placed her bag inside her locker, shut it gently and marched down the hallway, ignoring the greetings called out to her, until she reached Stiles, trying pathetically to open his locker with shaking hands that kept fumbling out the wrong combination as his tired mind tried to remember the simple code. Her lips pursing, she firmly grabbed his hands and maneuvered him out of the way before opening it herself.

"How- nevermind. Thanks, Lydia." Even his voice is dulled, the normal adoration lost to apathy. It fuels her anger, because Stiles Stilinski should never be that tired. Never.

Next, she snags his backpack, grabs his phone from within to shove into his hand, hangs the bag on the locker hook, and shut the door. Turning she clenches his shirt in her hand and stalks down the hall, Stiles stumbling along in her wake. They are near the entrance when Scott blocks her way.

"Lydia, what are you doing? Stiles needs to be here, we have a group project in English due today-"

"Stiles can text you his locker combination later, Scott, his backpack is still in there, with the project, I trust." Stiles makes a small noise of affirmation from behind her.

"But-," She smoothly cuts him off before she has to listen to him anymore. There are days where she thinks she and Stiles are the only two intelligent ones and this is one of them. Combined with her current mood, him being one of the targets, her tolerance level is exactly nonexistent.

"I'm sure the big, bad wolf can manage to bumble through one day on his own. And if you can't, oh well. Deal with it." Pushing past the gaping Scott, she continues to drag Stiles along with her, though when she looks back he's grinning, still tired, but at least there's some life in his eyes. "If I let go, will you still come?" He nods and that's enough for her, so she lets go and leads him through the parking lot to her silver car, racing from the parking lot as soon as he's buckled in. It's silent for a few minutes before Stiles finally speaks, easing her worry a little. He should never be so silent.

"Where are we going?" He doesn't sound worried, just distantly curious and it's not as if Lydia was planning on hiding it.

"My house." She didn't think Stiles had ever really been in her house, outside of her disastrous birthday party, which she really didn't count, and a few other times, like when she was drugged out of her mind or when he escorted her to her bedroom. But never really at her request to just spend time together. That would change, she decided. When you were surrounded by people of dubious mental capacity, you learned to value those who very distinctly did not fall into that category.

"Why?" Still distant curiosity. She rather missed his typically energetic and expressive tones.

"Because you look awful and are going to eat and sleep and I don't care about Derek and Scott and the rest of the pack or any of what they want. Having you pass out in Chemistry or the middle of a fight won't help anyone." His jaw flapped uselessly for a moment before he remembered that this was Lydia Martin and resistance was futile. He merely nodded, resigned to his fate.

Nodding in a satisfied manner, Lydia drove on as it started to rain.

. . . . .

It was still raining hours later and Lydia was downstairs watching a cheesy movie that she wasn't ashamed of, dang it. If no one knew about it being one of her favorites or that it existed in her house, well that wasn't her fault. People didn't know a lot of things. Couldn't be helped. And at least it wasn't Twilight. (She indulged that particularly guilty pleasure at Allison's, deflecting her friend's knowing glances with blunt statements that she just needed something to make fun of).

But a knocking at the door made her hurriedly change back to satellite and be glad she had been watching MythBusters earlier not My Big, Fat Gypsy Wedding or something. Again, people didn't know a lot of things and that didn't hurt her.

Stalking to the door (because it was almost her favorite part, dang it!), she flung it open to reveal Derek Hale's scowling face. Immediately, she began to close the door, but he blocked it with a growl and pushed his way past.

"You know, this could be construed as breaking and entering. Especially in this neighborhood."

"Where's Stiles?" Derek barked, already heading for the stairs. She darted in front of him, blocking his path.

"Sleeping, like he needed to and where he will be staying." She was determined on this. Stiles Stilinski would not move at all until Lydia granted, which would be as soon as he stopped looking like death.

"There's no time, we need that information now and he already missed the meeting-" Her irritation mounted and as she remembered how dehumanized Derek could be, literally and figuratively.

"Which means he can miss you too."

"Lydia-" His voice was curt, growing anger behind every word.

"No, Derek. He's exhausted, he's hurt, and he needs sleep." Lydia didn't care how angry he was.

"The pack can't afford-"

"Frankly, the pack can-" her own voice was cut off however at the sound of Stile's scream. Aiming a wide eyed look at the wolf, Lydia turned to run up the stairs, Derek's own strides soon overtaking hers and leaving her to catch up. She entered the room closely following Derek, who had stopped at the door. Pushing past him, she ran to the bed, cradling Stiles' head as he thrashed in the throes of a nightmare.

"Stiles! Stiles, it's okay, I'm here, wake up. C'mon Stiles, wake up!" Finally as she shook him, his eyes snapped open and he tried to flinch away, gasping, but she tightened her hold and grabbed his hand for good measure.

"Ly-Lydia?" His eyes were almost childlike in their fear.

"Yeah Stiles, it's me." She made her voice as gentle as she could, but Stiles was still shuddering, so she guessed it hadn't worked.

"But you, the pack- you were all-" His hands went to his eyes as he dug his palms in, trying to push the shadows away.

"Stiles, we're fine. You're fine too. Just, go back to sleep, alright?" His head immediately shook in refusal. "You need to sleep, you were only out a few hours."

"It's more than I've gotten for days, Lydia." Judging by the way he bit his lip, that wasn't supposed to be mentioned. "I'll be fine-" His voice was already returning to that tired apathy and she snapped.

"Yes, you will be, because you'll be sleeping. No," she held up one long fingernail, painted her favorite shade of red, to stop his protests. "Don't bother. They can manage without you for a day or two." She glared at Derek when Stiles wasn't looking to emphasize her point.

"But I don't… I don't want to dream, Lydia." Her heart softened as his drooping eyes locked on hers.

"I'll stay until you fall asleep, Stiles. I'll even stay nearby tonight. Just sleep." Exhaustion finally won out and his eyes slipped closed as his head nodded drowsily. She and Derek stayed there for several minutes until she was certain he was well and truly sleeping, before slipping from the room back downstairs.

Turning to face him, she hardened her eyes, straightened up, and turned to face him.

"Call the others. We need to talk."

. . . . .

"What's this about, Lydia?" Erica snapped. "I was sleeping."

"Lucky," Scott grumbled. "I can't go to sleep until I finish that English paper." There was the general muttered agreements through the room and Lydia's teeth grit.

"Actually, this is about someone else who needs to sleep. Stiles."

Scott perked up.

"What about him? Is he alright, did something happen?" His voice gradually gained a more and more panicked note as he continued and Lydia rolled her eyes.

"No, he's not alright and something did happen, but!" Her voice cut sharply through his urgent movements toward the door. "He's here and it's not something you can just rip to pieces with your claws like the scary Alpha you are." Scott's face took on that confused expression, puppy like enough to only be annoying in large doses, luckily for him. In the years recent it had become less and less common, but Lydia still remembered when that had been his default expression and Stiles was the one with the plans. That was before Scott was Alpha and Stiles stopped planning, before he became almost afraid to be in control of anything even though if you watched long enough you could see how much he needed something to be responsible for. The reminder wasn't in Scott's favor, because it meant that she remembered how no one listened even though he was right and that Stiles took every one of their failures and lifted the burdens from their shoulders, the crushing weight of grief and guilt and placed it squarely on his own thin frame and already hunched posture.

"Well then, what are you waiting for?" Erica briskly stated. "What's wrong? If it's just that he got a boo boo, he'll have worse to deal with."

"That. That is the problem. You're all forgetful idiots and I won't let it continue."

"What?" Isaac summarized the general mood and Lydia felt ready to explode. Some pack they were, they didn't even care, didn't notice anything at all. Luckily, Derek who had been quietly skulking in the corner noticed her state of near apoplectic fury and stepped forward.

"What are we?" His question was simple enough that it confused all of them. Idiots.

"Werewolves?" Scott ventured hesitantly.

"And?"

"And what?"

"What else? What are we?" Derek questioned as he gestured to all of them. It was silent as each of them tried to decipher what he meant until Boyd spoke up.

"Pack."

"Yes. And what does Pack do?"

"We protect each other." Scott volunteered.

"We make everyone stronger." Isaac.

"We stop their weaknesses." Erica.

"And what are the powers of werewolves?"

"Healing, strength, enhanced senses, and the claws."

"And what is Stiles?" There was a horrible pause to Lydia's ears, but none of the others seemed to hear it.

"He's just human." Erica said. "What else? I mean, Allison's a hunter, Lydia's… whatever, but Stiles is just Stiles."

Derek looked ready to continue, but Lydia was past stewing.

"Stiles is never _just _anything. He's not just a human or just Stiles or just whatever name you're calling him this week, he's _Stiles_." Lydia whirled to Scott who looked suddenly fearful. Good. "He's the one who taught you how to be a wolf and put up with you for who knows how many years and was always behind you even when it was stupid and dangerous. Is he just anything?" She hissed and Scott looked away. One, two technically, counting Derek, down.

"And you three, you've rarely been anything but cruel to him, but did he care? Did he hold it against you? No. He saved your lives and did your research and fought with you and never held a single grudge all while being," Her voice lowered as her eyes narrowed. "Painfully. Human." She stepped closer to Erica and could see the other girl forcing herself into her slouched posture and to not stiffen and back away. "Sweetie, you may be his Catwoman, but you seem to be forgetting who Batman is. Stiles can be hurt and weak and human, but he is never _just _anything."

She stepped back again and it was silent for a moment.

"What did we do?" Erica finally asked, just wary concern in her voice, no arrogance and that is what spared her from Lydia's wrath.

"Have you looked at him recently?" Mostly. "He's exhausted, he's losing weight, he doesn't fidget or ramble, he doesn't even look up anymore and he's still hurt from all of your fights! But no, he can't rest, can't sleep and heal, heaven forbid, because Scott McCall has an English assignment. Because Derek and his puppies can't read on their own. Because Erica is bored. Dear Goodness, how dare I assume!"

Tension lined the room like the heavy scent of wolfsbane, but no one dared to break it until a quiet voice spoke from the staircase.

"You know that's not how it is."

The pack who had been so fixated on Lydia and her accusations that they missed his arrival whirled to face him and it was like they were seeing him for the first time. His smile was strained and didn't reach his eyes, which he seemed to realize, because he just let it slip from his face until all that was left was a bone deep exhaustion and almost resignation. His feet were spread like he was trying to stand steady, but a trembling hand grasped the railing like he was failing and only it could catch him. And his eyes, those warm amber eyes that were always a soft whiskey for his Pack, they were a deadened, dark brown. It was unnatural and it sent a flash of shame through them that they had missed this.

Stiles was always there, a supporting hand in sorrow, a kind smile during a bad day, trustworthy backup during a fight, and the best confidant that any of them knew. He always seemed so much _more_. But he was j-. He was human. He was stronger than all of them, but he was human.

"I've never- I would never not be there for them, Lydia." Lydia's mouth opened in incredulity, but Stiles ploughed on. "I won't say I've never been hurt or lonely or just- tired. But I would never change any of you. You've all tried so hard, been hurt so much and sure, you've made mistakes, but I've never blamed you, not once."

Derek's throat cleared loudly, like he was choking, but he still got the words out in a level tone. "It's never been your fault either, Stiles."

Stiles gave one derogatory snort.

"No," Erica continued for Derek. "It's never been your fault. You would always be giving us the answers and the plans, even if we didn't listen at first, but you were hardly ever wrong."

"But it wasn't enough, was it?" Stiles snapped his eyes narrowed further in self-loathing. "It's never enough. I never have all the pieces, I'm never strong enough, I always mess up. Of course it's my fault, don't bother lying to me."

Scott immediately shook his head and stepped forward, but Stiles cut him off before he could even begin.

"Don't, Scott. You wouldn't even have to deal with any of this if I hadn't dragged you out like an idiot to look for a body, like it was some stupid murder mystery. Everything we've gone through, all the times you almost died, those are on me. And for you three, Isaac, I'm the _son of the Sherriff_. If I wasn't an oblivious moron, I could have gotten you out. And Erica, I just had to notice you, to give you some company, that's all. That's it. I just had to be a decent human being and I wasn't. For Moon's sake, Derek, I got you arrested by just meeting you and being wrong!" His body shook afterward, like he had put all his energy into showing them how flawed he was and saved none for himself.

Slowly, after several moments, he lowered himself to the stairs, wincing at the injuries hidden behind his baggy plaid and pants, and sort of hunched in like he had concaved. Lydia promptly walked over and sat beside him on the wide stair, taking his hand and leaning gingerly against his shoulder. He stayed stiff and tightly wound for a long minute before sighing his defeat and relaxing, shoulders loosening and his head gently falling onto hers.

It was as if it was a preset signal that they arranged, how quickly the pack arranged themselves around him. Erica leaned against his legs as Scott pressed to Stiles' other side, Isaac falling into place beside him. Boyd sat beside Erica and even Derek came, taking up the space on the stair above.

They just stayed for a while, basking in warmth and comfort and Pack, until Derek broke the silence again.

"When I was fifteen, I was an idiot. I was cocky, so sure that I would always be strong enough, have enough control, that I didn't need Peter or my Mom or Laura or anyone. Then I met a girl. She was beautiful and understood me and eventually, I fell in love. Finally, I had control that was _mine_. This was something I didn't have to share, so I kept it from everyone. I would meet with her and sometimes we would talk and sometimes we wouldn't. So I never noticed when she would ask the occasional question that she shouldn't have even known. I loved her and she gave me freedom and choice. It was only when I was looking up at the smoke above where my house had once stood happily and smelled that… horrible smell that I realized that I had never had less choice than I had then. So, tell me. I didn't know her history, I couldn't stop the fire, I wasn't strong enough to resist, smart enough to even know I should, so was it my fault?"

"No, of course it wasn't, but it- it's different." Stiles spoke with the conviction of a person who believed wholeheartedly, but didn't actually know why.

"How?" Derek asked softly.

"I don't- I don't know, okay? It just is."

"It is." They all turned to gape at Derek for that abrupt switch except for Stiles, who shrunk inward again, like he was waiting for painful blow. "It's different because I was too stupid to notice anything, because I didn't even try to put the pieces together. It's different because sure, sometimes you are still lost or tired or weak, but you have never been too late. And someday, when we face something that's too much and all of us were too late, that still won't be you. That will never be you, Stiles."

Stiles had turned as Derek was speaking and now stared, wide, tired, _relieved_, if not complexly believing eyes affixed on Derek's own grey-green pools.

"Alright."

They knew that that wasn't the end of it, there would still be hurts and falters and tiredness. Still losses and bad days and disbelief, but as Stiles fell into sleep in Lydia's arms surrounded by a Pack who now _knew_, they thought that maybe, just maybe, it could be a good start instead.

**So, this is where I tell you this is my first foray into TW fiction and I am so absurdly thrilled, I fell in love with most of the characters at some point, apparently. So, thoughts? Please review, I'd like to see your opinions of the characters and the situation, so. **

**Lovely day all, Audemus,**

**SMM**


End file.
